McKenzington
© 2005 Chase Andrew Jedick
It’s the break of day in McKenzington.
The master is down—his family asleep.
There’s a bird in the yard who wants to make sure.
He catches the worm with a bounding leap.
By the brook of golden and green, there worships the ancients and me.
There’s a girl out late. Back from the fair.
Drunk she walks, and golden her hair.
There’s a thief out late. He’s walking the roads.
He’s walking the roads of distance and hope.
He spies from afar, then greets her in smile, then worships her passionately.
There’s an old man crying, in a barn somewhere.
His boy’s just died. The fever he caught.
His wife’s in bed, she’s dying with hatred
And regretting the love from the life she forgot
She knew what to do, and felt what was right. To argue with God, no, you can’t.
There’s a church burning down—flames from the steeple.
And we’re burning too, even though we don’t know.
There’s a girl crying out, she’s in need of our help.
There’s a girl crying out, but we can’t hear.
The joy of the children. The toys that will kill them. A joke but it still rings of truth.
It’s the same old story, wherever you go.
Life has us down, and we’re being crushed.
And the laughter is lost. It echoes in caverns—
The bleakly lit dungeons of what once was.
There’s a cry—you can hear it. Though most men do fear it…and echoes from ancients and me.
© 2006
Chase Andrew Jedick